Borrowed Time
by Mcshnee
Summary: COMPLETE! Stephanie is ill but hides it from her loved ones, trying to cope alone. She's survived so much in the past, but can she beat cancer? Or is she living on borrowed time? WARNING: HIGH ANGST
1. Chapter 1

_Warning: This story features **cancer** and is pretty high on **angst.** Again, I repeat, this story involves cancer. I did research, but any medical mistakes__are my own. I'm posting this in bigger parts rather than smaller chapters because people don't seem able to cope with the angst! Please let me know what you think!_**  
**

**Borrowed Time**

Part One 

It was small things at first; things I barely noticed. I was a little bit more tired than normal, a little achier, but I shrugged and put it down to going back to bounty hunting full time.

It was my lack of appetite that made me finally go to the doctors; no way in hell was that normal.

The examination was thorough and lengthy. Apparently there was swelling in some of my glands that were worrying my doctor, and that, combined with my other symptoms, had him bundling me off to the hospital for more check-ups.

I was told not to worry, that these symptoms were flu-like, that the check-up at the hospital was just a fail safe, good sense. No need to panic.

The hospital told me that everything's probably fine, it's probably nothing, we'll just send off some samples. No need to panic.

Only now, a week later, I'm staring at this little bit of paper in front of me, and I'm panicking.

'Cancer?' I repeated in shock.

'Cancer.' The doctor confirmed softly.

'Shit.' I said.

* * *

I'm pretty sure the doctor told me all kinds of things that I was supposed to be listening to but all I could hear was the C word echoing in my brain. This wasn't supposed to happen to me, I didn't get ill.

In shock I found myself sitting in my car, a wad of booklets on the seat next to me and the doctor's last words in my ears, 'Patients are generally better able to cope with their emotions if they can talk openly about their illness and their feelings with family members and friends.' I had nodded, even though I had no intention of doing so.

I could cope with this, my family couldn't; my mom would alternate between ironing and downing whiskey, my father would fight with my grandma for the TV and Valerie would constantly suggest supplements that were supposed to help, in between bouts of tears. I couldn't face all that - couldn't cause all that.

So I was going to do this by myself because I wasn't going to put my family through the worry. Besides, I didn't want the Burg and the whole world to know, which precluded telling Grandma, Mary Lou or anyone at the bonds office.

I tried to imagine what Joe would say, but the thought that he might start to treat me differently, start to treat me with kid gloves, instantly vetoed any possibility of telling him. Besides, he hadn't seen me since I went back to bounty hunting three weeks ago.

There was only one person I wanted to talk to.

I speed dialled one.

'Yo.'

'Yo yourself.' I managed, emotion making my voice warble a fraction, 'could you come over to mine sometime? I need to tell you something.'

'Be there in twenty.' Ranger replied, and he was gone.

I drove to my apartment in a daze and tried to pull myself together for my talk with Ranger. He was the only one I wanted to tell. He had always been there for me; he told me the truth, sometimes he missed bits out, but he never lied, and he wouldn't pull any punches. I needed that right now, someone I could trust, and someone I could depend on.

My locks tumbled open and he walked in looking delectable in black combats and painted on t-shirt. I checked my chin for drool and he looked like he might be thinking about smiling.

'Babe.'

Yup. He was amused.

I smiled and gestured for him to sit on the couch. I took the other seat and took a deep breath.

'Let me start.' Ranger said. I blinked in surprise, wondering what he could have to say to me.

'Sure.'

He met my eyes, looking scarily serious; 'A while ago I said that if Morelli was out of your bed for long enough then I would get in.'

What? Where was he going with this? My confusion must have showed because he continued.

'Things have changed since I said that, I think that sex would confuse things even more between us, and right now we can't be involved that way. I think that we should keep some distance between us for a while.'

My blank face made an appearance and Ranger blinked in surprise. What the hell? I needed him! Needed him to help me, and here he was, telling me that we needed space from each other?

My heart clenched as I realised what was going on. He must have thought I called him here to talk to him about us, and he was stopping me before I could say anything. He was making it clear there was no us. Perhaps there wasn't, but it hurt that my rock had suddenly turned into quick sand.

I nodded, keeping my blank face on.

'Fine.' I said tightly.

'Babe.' He said.

'We done here?' I asked.

He nodded and got up and turned towards me. He opened his mouth and closed it like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. 'I'm sorry.' He finally said, closing the door behind him.

'You have no idea.' I said to the empty apartment. And then I slid down the wall and started to cry; I was alone.

* * *

I don't know how long I cried for, but eventually I forced myself to stop. I wiped my eyes, got a grip of all my courage, and started to read through the booklets the doctor had given me. I might go through this alone, but I was going to go through it knowing what the heck was happening to my body.

Two hours later and I was more knowledgeable, more scared, and more determined.

Apparently the type of cancer I had, Non-Hodgkins Lymphomas, had a 50 survival rate. I was trying to be positive, but that meant it also had a 50 death rate.

Most of my current symptoms were listed in a neat little booklet titled, '_So, You think you have cancer?' _

What insensitive idiot decided that was a good idea for a title? Must have been a man.

The doctor had already sent off a biopsy for the swelling on my glands, and those were the results that I'd seen earlier in the hospital office, so there really was no doubt that I had cancer. Still the booklet helped let me know what symptoms I could be expecting.

I vaguely remembered discussing treatment with the doctor, but none of the details were clear in my mind, mostly I'd been a haze of 'what the fuck?'

The booklet seemed to think chemotherapy was the way to go. I might have to have radiotherapy depending on the type of cancer it was and how fast it was growing.

Both the chemotherapy and the radiotherapy had side effects, one of them being the potential loss of my hair. I've never been fond of the rat's nest on my head, but I suddenly felt rather attached to it. I didn't want to lose my curls, but it was a small price to pay for life.

I pushed my vanity and panic aside and started to make a list of things I needed to do.

I needed to check my life insurance policy, update my will, and start planning my funeral for the worst-case scenario. Some people might see that as grim, but mostly I didn't want my family to have to deal with that on top of the shock of my death. A few months ago I would have gone to Stiva, no question, now I was more than apprehensive about using his establishment, even if he was locked away. Still, everyone knew Mosel uses too much make-up. Maybe I'll have to go to Stiva's anyway; it is under new management after all. Grandma Mazur's there five days a week now, even missing out on strip bingo at the retirement home, so it can't be all that bad, right?

Next on my to do list was quite simple: live.

Now that was the general plan, but more importantly it meant do all those things you've always wanted to do but been too scared to do. I don't have time to be scared anymore.

Number four, live, was subdivided into other things like; go on a hot air balloon ride, and go horse riding.

I didn't know how much time I had left, but I was going to spend it _living_.

I decided the list wasn't going to get shorter by looking at it, so I picked up my cell and started calling. I had things to do, wills to make, a life to live.

* * *

Dickie set me up with a lawyer to help me sort out all my affairs. He was good, polite and discreet; everything I had demanded. Dickie had gone silent after I'd told him why I needed a lawyer. Then he'd asked quietly, 'You need anything?'

'A lawyer.' I repeated. 'And your silence.'

He made agreeing noises and then sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

Somehow I knew he wasn't just talking about my cancer. 'I know.' And then I hung up.

When had I stopped hating Dickie? I guess my woman-scorned fury had finally run out of fire, or maybe it's because I finally realised that life was too short to be wasting it spending my time hating.

Two hours later and all my wishes were recorded and documented, right down to the songs I wanted to be played. For some reason, 'I did it my way' by Frank Sinatra seemed appropriate, and I wanted yellow roses; they were cheerful, and Lord knows the church could use some brightening up. All that stained glass was pretty, but it didn't really lend itself to a light filled room.

Three hours later and I'd listened to half an hour of 'easy-listening' music on hold and half an hour of an annoying life-insurance person's voice. I had my insurance all sorted out, but I was ready to track down the idiot that thought up easy listening and give them a piece of my mind. But my mind was too valuable to give to that fool, so I decided against that idea. Instead I crawled into bed and let myself drift to sleep listening to a teach-yourself-Spanish tape. I didn't have a moment to lose; even sleeping I was going to do something productive.

I got up early the next day and went for a walk; Ranger was right, it wasn't the length of your life that mattered; it was the quality of it.

Thinking about Ranger made my heart ache. As much as I tried not to admit it - I was scared. I wanted to cry on someone's shoulder besides my old teddy bear's, but every time I felt weak I told myself that I could do this, I could deal with this myself. Ranger had made it clear he didn't want to waste his time or emotion on me. He may claim to love me in his own way, but he wasn't there when I needed him, so maybe his type of love is pointless. Worthless.

I let out a heavy sigh and trudged my way back to my car. I got back to my apartment without incident, and sat slumped on my couch, trying to get my feelings sorted out. Thinking things through really wasn't helping, so eventually I pulled out a pad of paper and started writing.

_Dear Nobody,_

_Yesterday I found out that I definitely have cancer. Today is another day, but everything's different. Every breath I take feels fresher, well, as fresh as New Jersey gets. I would say everything feels brighter, but that would be a lie. Everything feels darker. Like there's a cloud looming over me. I still can't believe it. I think some small part of me is hoping this is a dream I'll wake up from._

_I decided not to tell people yet. I need to come to terms with it first. The only person I wanted to tell was Ranger. But, well, he's decided we should keep our distance for a while. I don't need distance right now. I need him. I need him to hold my hand and tell me I'll be ok, that everything will be ok. But he's not here, and I'm less convincing than he would be._

_I'm so scared._

I dated the letter, sighed and put my pen down. I felt better now that I'd faced my feelings.

I put the letter in my bedside drawer and got ready for the day; putting away my emotions as surely as I put away the letter. I had things to do.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry for the delay, I'm writing more now! Let me know what you think!_

Part Two

It had been over a month since I first found out I had cancer. I wrote a letter to nobody almost everyday; it helped keep my emotions in order and stopped me from falling apart.

I had a morning routine now. I would get up, take my pills, go for a walk, write a letter, and spend the day bounty hunting. I got my FTAs more and more, but that's probably because I took more risks, and why shouldn't I? The chemotherapy wasn't working, and the cancer was spreading.

Apparently my cancer was high grade, which meant it was fast spreading. For the past week I've been having radiotherapy five days a week. It had replaced my morning doughnut run and eaten into my morning walk. If Connie or Lula asked why I was late into the office I always had an excuse prepared: hair appointment, dentist, car trouble, PMS, headache, family trouble. After a while they stopped asking why I was late, because my late had now become my on time.

I didn't run into Ranger at the office because we both avoided each other strenuously; at least that's what I was doing. I would give him all the space he wanted, and he could have even more when I was gone. A whole planet full.

Joe hadn't made any effort to see me, which, given how often I was bringing in skips, probably meant he was avoiding me too.

On the plus side, I now had enough money saved to pay for my own funeral. I wouldn't be a burden on my parent's finances - they didn't deserve that. And on the off chance that I survived, well, I would have myself a nice nest egg.

I'd taken to wearing baggier clothes to hide my weight loss and inches of foundation to hide the circles under my eyes. I tried to ensure no one but Rex saw me crying, and no one but the porcelain toilet-god saw me throwing up.

I kept living my day-to-day life like everything was fine, but my weekends were a different story. With all my successful captures I didn't need to work weekends, which meant I could use those two days to do things I've always wanted to do. I go to Church every Sunday morning, funny how a potential dose of death reminds you of your own spirituality. No matter what anyone says though, it wasn't really a fear of death that had me there. It was a need to know what was coming, what to expect; a need to prepare. I visited the priest every Wednesday, he counselled me to tell my family. I probably would, but not yet. I wasn't ready yet.

Saturdays were my 'fun days'. I went on a hot air balloon ride and ticked it off my list with a huge smile as I remembered the feeling of soaring so high above everything else. I went bareback horse riding and couldn't stop smiling the next day, despite the ache in my legs from the use of neglected muscles. I went to an art museum and a history museum. I went to dance classes and wore racy red dresses, and I took Spanish classes every Sunday evening, followed by a cookery class.

I never wanted to be a wife who has dinner on the table by 6 sharp, but being able to make more than an olive and peanut butter sandwich was nice. Besides, a good diet was definitely recommended for people on chemo and radiotherapy.

Despite my silent resignation that my life was coming to a close, it didn't stop me hoping that it wouldn't. I spent hours crying in secret despair, hours raging at the unfairness of it all, but always in the confines of my home. No one would ever, could ever, know. I would be strong because I couldn't lean on my rock. I would be strong because no one would be strong for me.

* * *

I chased my skip into the bar, running easier than I'd ever done before; I guess regular exercise does help. I ducked easily under the knife that he threw my way, ignoring the momentary urge to let the knife hit. I kicked him in the back of his knees and pulled his arms behind his back. He was cuffed before he hit the floor. I heaved him up and dragged the surprised idiot into my car before it occurred to him to struggle. 

As I finished shackling his legs and putting him in my car, I felt a familiar tingle run through me. Ranger was near. With an ease born of practice, I pushed aside the torrent of emotion I had when I thought of him. I slammed the back door closed, locking the car, and turned to where I knew Ranger was.

He was flanked by Tank and Hal. He looked great, and that made me mad all over again. Dammit, he was supposed to be suffering, not looking like he'd just come back from vacation. His skin was a fraction darker than usual, and his body had a hint of more muscle.

I faced him, blank faced, and rose an eyebrow like he had done on so many occasions. I waited for him to break the silence, but when he didn't I shrugged and moved to open my car door.

'Babe.' He said.

The snarky part of me wanted to insist that my name was Stephanie, but the other part of me enjoyed the way my nickname sounded on his lips. He closed the distance between us, and grabbed my wrist loosely. I turned back to face him but said nothing, eyebrow raised again.

His hand tightened on my arm and he frowned fractionally, 'you've lost weight.'

'Shit happens.' I replied levelly. 'Was that all?'

His jaw clenched. 'You took a risk in there.' Ranger said, 'you should have called me for back-up.'

I felt my anger swell whilst I fought to keep it in check. I pulled my wrist free from his grasp. 'You made it clear that you haven't got my back, Ranger.'

He looked like I'd sucker punched him in the gut.

I took advantage of his silence and got in my car, cranking the engine and driving away before he'd even moved. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw him staring after me as I drove away. Not my problem, I told myself, blinking rapidly to stop the tears falling. Not my problem, I repeated, and tried to make the ache in my heart go away.

After I'd dropped off my FTA I went to my parents' house for dinner. I laughed with Grandma Mazur, played with Angie and Mary Alice, and I complimented my mom on dinner. I sat next to my dad and soaked up his warmth. But even surrounded by my family's love my heart still ached.

I stopped at the seven eleven on the way home and brought Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Brownie Ice Cream. I ate the whole tub, but I wasn't particularly worried about it; I would probably throw up after radiotherapy tomorrow. I normally did. I had taken to eating snacks throughout the day, I just couldn't handle big meals any more. It made dinner at my parents interesting. I had become adept at the art of swiping my food into my napkin when no one was looking; as far as they knew I was eating as much as always.

I watched a _new_ film for once. Ghostbusters was great, but I knew it from start to finish, and I wanted to try as many new things as possible while I still could. So I watched Ned Kelly, it was a great film with Heath Ledger and Orlando Bloom, worthy of my drool. Not Ranger level by any stretch of the imagination but I wouldn't say no to either.

I crawled into bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a book. I fell asleep in chapter two of Wuthering Heights, but it was a start.

* * *

I went through my morning routine and made my way to the hospital for my treatment. I sat in the waiting room waiting patiently with my copy of Wuthering Heights. I never had to wait long. 

'Babe?'

I jumped in surprise, dammit, where was my warning tingle?

Ranger was a few seats away, surrounded by people that were clearly his family. He was dressed in jeans and a cream jumper that looked like it would be soft to touch.

'What are you doing here?' I asked.

'My sister's giving birth.' He said, 'you ok?'

I was saved from an answer when my nurse arrived, 'Hey Stephanie,' She said, 'you all ready for your treatment?'

'Yeah.' I smiled.

'Good. How are you feeling today?'

I thought about it. She'd made me swear to answer this one question truthfully, but Ranger could still hear. Still, a promise was a promise. And _I _always kept _my_ promises.

'Crap.' I sighed.

Her smile faded a little, 'never mind, there are bound to be bad days. Now let's get you started.'

I followed her into one of the treatment rooms and tried not to feel Ranger's gaze burning a hole in my back. Even without all the verbal clues we had surely dropped, I was pretty sure he would work it out when I walked into a room that had 'Radiotherapy' in big letters over the doorframe.

I tried to push him out of my mind, but an hour later the nausea I was feeling was still trying to compete for my notice with Ranger-thoughts.

I thanked my nurse and made my way back out. Unfortunately, I had to go through the waiting area to get back. I hoped Ranger wasn't there, but he wasn't going to make me waste time by waiting for him to leave.

I took a deep breath, struggling with rising nausea. Then I made my way to the waiting room. Naturally, he was still there.

I met his eyes across the room and blew out a sigh, I might be angry with him, but I still had to talk to him, if only to tell him to keep his mouth shut. I walked slowly over to him, feeling weary, not wanting to have this conversation in front of his family.

_Ranger's POV_

I watched Steph disappear into the radiotherapy room and felt my stomach lurch. I stared at the sign above the door in incomprehension. It couldn't be…she couldn't be…I would have noticed – except I'd been avoiding her. I grasped at the possibility it was a relative who was ill, but even my irrational side couldn't deny the conversation she'd had with the nurse. Stephanie was ill. My Babe has cancer.

I swore aloud.

My head was scrambling as it struggled to understand what that could mean, not just for now, but for the past few weeks.

I felt sick to my core as I remembered the way her voice had trembled fractionally as she'd called me that day. I had known Morelli was out of her bed, maybe even out of her life, but I hadn't been ready yet. I'd needed time to get my life in order before I could be with her. So I'd told her we needed to keep our distance for a while; I hadn't meant for her to start avoiding me like I had the plague, I'd just meant maybe we shouldn't be kissing in alleyways.

I could have gone to see her at her apartment, but she'd made it clear she didn't want to see me. So I went to Miami, and if I worked out harder than normal, or sparred a bit more, I tried to dismiss it as a new fitness drive. But I knew now what it was; I was avoiding the issue. Avoiding thoughts of the blue-eyed brunette that haunted my dreams.

Then I finally returned to Trenton, and she looked so tired, she'd lost so much weight, and worse, it nearly killed me that she thought I didn't have her back.

With one thoughtless sentence I had destroyed her faith in me. She was ill, probably with cancer, and when she'd needed me most, I'd walked away. It was just another unhealthy pattern in her life; that the men in her life were shits who always left her when she needed them most - I'd tried so hard to relegate the pattern, but in the end I was no better. No more worthy of her. In the end, maybe I was worse.

I dragged myself out of my private pity party. Now was not the time. Stephanie had cancer. She could be dying.

'Oh God.' I said aloud at the thought. I shook my head fractionally. Stephanie was a fighter, a survivor. She was going to be fine. She had to be.

I lifted my head out of my hands and unerringly met her eyes as she leaned wearily against the doorframe. I held her gaze as she slowly made her way over to me. I wanted to run to her, to help her, but I didn't have that right – not anymore.

Her eyes were wary and her face was blank. 'Ranger.' She said coolly, ramming a verbal knife into my heart.

'Babe.' I said, shocked at how close to pleading it sounded.

A flicker of something moved over her face, too fast for me to identify.

'I haven't informed my family yet, please keep this information to yourself.' She said.

My heart clenched painfully, 'You've been going through this alone?' My voice was level, but the words themselves conveyed my disbelief.

'Shit happens.' She repeated her previous words to me. 'This information is need to know only. They don't need to know yet. Clear?'

I would never have imagined her taking that tone with me, with anyone.

I nodded. What else could I do? I would respect her wishes in this; it was such a small thing to do for her.

She nodded in satisfaction and turned to walk away. Once again I caught her wrist. It wasn't my place - but I needed to know more.

'Please.' I said, and this time there was no mistaking the pleading in my voice.

She knew what I was asking. She kept her back to me as she answered. 'Non-Hodgkins Lymphomas.' She said steadily. '50 chance.' She didn't specify which chance she had 50 of, but it didn't matter, I knew either way.

My heart was beating double time. 'You'll be ok.' I told her, and myself.

She finally turned to face me, and she laughed humourlessly, 'not sure our life expectancy's all that great in our line of work anyway.'

I closed my eyes. I knew what I was supposed to say; it's the quality of life that's important.

But now, faced with the possibility of her mortality, the length of her life suddenly mattered more then it ever should have.

'You'll be ok.' I repeated stubbornly. 'You're a survivor.'

Her eyes softened fractionally, but I couldn't work out what she was thinking.

She started to pull away, but I held onto her tighter, 'you need anything?' I asked desperately.

She turned back, 'I did.' She replied quietly. 'Now if you let me go I can give you your distance.'

I dropped her hand in shock, in agony. 'Stephanie.' I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She walked away.

And I dropped my head back into my hands.

Celia turned to me, 'You're an idiot Carlos.'

I didn't reply.

It was true.

_Steph's POV_

I sat in my car, trying to stop the shaking. Despite myself, despite everything, I couldn't deny that hearing Ranger tell me I'd be ok helped. And that made me mad as hell.

Dammit, I didn't need him.

I put the car in gear and tried to concentrate on driving. I tried to ignore the way he had sounded as he had said my name, the look in his eyes. Dammit, this was his choice.

I made it back to the safety of my apartment before I started to cry again.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the wait! As always in this story **HIGH ANGST**. Let me know what you think, and thank you for all your amazing compliments, I hope I continue to do this story justice._

Part Three

It was surreptitious at first. Small things. Cars would pull out so that I could have the perfect car space, new flowers would be in the bond office, and new equipment that fit me perfectly would appear. A new box of bullets would be in my cookie jar after an old set had been used. My apartment would be cleaned when I got home, Rex would be freshly cleaned out, and groceries would have been put away.

Finally I just couldn't deny it. Ranger was supporting me in the only way he could I could walk away if he tried to talk to me, I could ignore his calls, but I couldn't ignore this. Ranger was doing all the little things that ate up my days so that I would have more time to relax.

I found a new red dress for my dancing lessons, a book on Spanish and a new pan. I found a cookbook, and my photo's from my weekends had been developed and put away in an album.

And one day, when I came home, I found Ranger.

**_Ranger's POV_**

She wouldn't let me hold her hand when she was having her treatment, wouldn't let me wipe away her tears or hold her hair while she was sick, so I did anything else I could think of to help her.

I tried hard not to invade her privacy, I didn't want her to get any angrier with me - I just wanted to help; to try to redeem myself, not just in her eyes, but in my own. I had abandoned her, the woman I love, in her time of need. No amount of flowers and bullets will ever make that ok.

I opened her bedside drawer to put a candle in there, and froze as I saw a pile of letters. Each one started with 'Dear Nobody'. My chest felt tight. My head told me not to do it, not to read, but my heart needed to know. So I lifted out the pile of letters and started to read them through in order.

My heart was in agony by the end of the first letter.

_The only person I wanted to tell was Ranger. But, well, he's decided we should keep our distance for a while. I don't need distance right now. I need him. I need him to hold my hand and tell me I'll be ok, that everything will be ok. But he's not here, and I'm less convincing than he would be._

_I'm so scared._

I wasn't there, goddamn it, I wasn't there. She needed me, and I wasn't there.

There were so many letters; it looked like she'd written one everyday for weeks. I gathered all my courage and forced myself to read more.

_The pills make me feel really sick, Mary Lou saw me throwing up today and asked me if I was pregnant. I laughed so hard I started to cry. Before I knew it I was sobbing my heart out. I had to pretend it was because I was upset about Joe – I can't tell her the truth. Not yet. I can't tell anyone. It's better this way._

I felt sick. She hadn't confided in a single soul, she really had been going through this 100 alone.

I forced myself to read, to try and understand, but every so often I would read an extract that made me wish I were on a case where no one would care if the FTA fell down the stairs. Repeatedly.

_I had my first day of radiotherapy yesterday. I felt sick all day afterwards. It was so hard to eat, but the doctor told me it's really important for me to have a good diet. I was so nervous, the doctor had explained the whole procedure to me, but I was still scared. I wish I had someone to hold my hand. I took my old teddy bear in my tote bag instead._

My throat felt tight, constricted, and I was having trouble swallowing past the lump in it.

_I know it's a ridiculous thing to be happy about, but I'm glad I've managed to keep my hair. It's thinned out a bit, but I went to Mr Alexander and he cut it so it looks like it's thinner on purpose. He took me to a backroom and gave me a hug. His wife had cancer; he knows the signs. I ended up crying on his shoulder. He promised I could have a free haircut anytime I want. I asked him to make sure my hair will look good in the end. He promised me. It was a small comfort, but it's surprising how much it meant to me. He told me not to give up; who else would let her stylist dye her hair orange? I pointed out that the orange was an accident, and he grinned at me. I now suspect some kind of hair conspiracy._

A choked laugh made its way out of me, only my Babe.

_Ranger saw me at the radiotherapy department today._

_I miss him._

That was it, the whole letter. Where were the blistering denunciations of my friendship?

Even in a letter she couldn't be unkind; she just didn't have a harsh bone in her body.

It was the last letter that made my heart stop.

_They tell me that it's spreading. The radiotherapy isn't working well enough; it kills off some of the bad cells, but not all of them._

_Despite everything it's so hard to get my head around it. The cancer is still spreading. I'm dying. I'm really dying._

_I thought I was ready. But I'm not. I'm scared._

It took all of my will not to crumple the letter and let out a roar of inarticulate rage. No! This wasn't supposed to happen. This can't happen. Not to my Babe, not to my Stephanie. We were supposed to have _someday_.

I clenched my jaw and tried to push my own impotent feelings aside. Stephanie needs me now, more than ever; dammit she won't go though this alone.

I went to her sitting room and prepared to wait. I flicked on her CD player, and nearly lost all my carefully sought control as Frank Sinatra's rich voice spilled out.

_And now, the end is near_

_And so I face, the final curtain_

_My friends, I'll say it clear_

_I'll state my case_

_Of which I'm certain_

_I've lived a life that's full_

_I've travelled each and every highway_

_And more, what's more than this_

_I did it my way._

The music washed over me, and I tried not to think how fitting the song was.

_Yes, there were times,_

_I'm sure you knew_

_When I bit off, more than I could chew_

_But through it all,_

_When there was doubt,_

_I ate it up, and spit it out._

_I faced it all,_

_And I stood tall,_

_And did it my way._

I was so engrossed in trying not to submit to my emotions that I didn't hear the key in the lock, and I didn't hear the door close as Stephanie came home.

**_Steph's POV_**

He was listening to _I did it my way_. His face was agonised, his eyes closed, and I was pretty sure he wasn't aware of his surroundings. My 'Dear Nobody' letters were in his lap.

I tried to work up some righteous rage that he'd read them, but all I could come up with was relief. I was so tired of being angry; angry at him, angry at my family for not somehow knowing I was ill, angry at the world for not finding a cure. Angry with God for letting me die.

Finally, someone knew.

I must have made some kind of noise because his eyes snapped open, instantly focussing on my face.

In seconds he was pulling me into his arms, the letters forgotten, strewn across the floor. It was only then that I realised I was crying.

I let out an open mouthed sob and cried desperately into Ranger's body, trying to muffle the sounds of my weeping. I was so sick of being strong.

'I've got you.' Ranger murmured to me. 'I've got you now. It's going to be ok. It's going to be ok.' And he stroked my hair as I shuddered out long stifled sobs.

'Ranger.' I wailed.

'I'm here now.' He whispered fiercely, 'I won't go.'

He lifted me into his arms and carried me to my bed, where I lay in his arms, crying until I fell asleep.

I awoke feeling better than I have in weeks. I was warm, and I felt safe.

I snuggled down into my sheets and realised that they were really Ranger's arms.

I froze mid-wiggle. 'Hey.' I said.

'Hey.' He replied, kissing me lightly on my forehead. 'What's your plan for the day?'

I glanced at my clock and sighed, I'd slept too long. 'I need to be at the hospital for treatment in half an hour. Then I'll go catch some skips I guess.'

'Babe.' He hesitated, 'Is that what you really want? To be chasing skips? Why don't you take a vacation?'

'I don't want to stop living my life just because I'm dying.' I said firmly, not looking at him.

'You're not dying.' He said firmly, 'but I can understand that.' He agreed reluctantly, 'but wouldn't you rather do something else than working?'

I shrugged, 'it fills my days, and I get money.'

'I have enough money for the both of us.' Ranger offered.

'I don't want to leech off you. I like earning my own money.'

'I know.' He said, 'but Babe, honestly, I could support you, a hundred cars a year, and me, without working another day of my life. Just take the day off today and think about it, ok?'

I nodded, 'Ok.'

We got up and I started to make my way to my car when Ranger rather firmly guided me to his Porsche. I thought about complaining, but the Porsche was comfy, so I didn't.

Ranger held my hand through the treatment; he wiped away my tears at the end and held my hair out of my face while I threw up.

Then he put me into his car and drove us to the seven eleven. He brought a disposable camera, ignoring my enquiring glance. We got back in the Porsche and he drove us to Point Pleasant. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot on the cold sand. Ranger followed suit and took my hand as we walked along the virtually deserted shore.

He stopped a passer-by and asked them to take a picture.

I smiled gratefully up at him as he held me in his arms.

We ate corndogs for lunch, and I told him all about Dave's Dogs and how I ate about fifteen dogs one time. Ok, so it was more like nine, but it felt like fifteen.

Ranger grinned at me, and said it was surprising that I still liked corndogs. I admitted that I had avoided them for a year or two and he laughed. Then he took a picture of me eating a corndog.

I battled with myself for a while, and then I caved and told him all about the cello incident. It was worth the momentary embarrassment just to see him laughing like that. I snapped a picture of him laughing in the sand.

Despite all the exciting things I'd done; hot air ballooning, bareback riding, dancing…this was by far my favourite day.

* * *

Ranger's been wonderful, he's spent nearly every day with me, leaving my side only for emergencies. It's been two weeks since he found out, and everyday, despite his best efforts, I get a little more tired, a little wearier. It's getting harder to get up every morning, but Ranger makes sure I get to my appointments on time, even when he has to dress me and carry me to the car, letting me sleep on the drive over. 

Even now, sitting in the doctor's office, I'm tired. Ranger was holding my hand, gently drawing circles on inner wrist.

The doctor was handing me more leaflets; these ones were entitled 'Bone Marrow Transplants; the facts.'

This was my last option. I needed to find a donor, and the most likely match would be from a family member. I turned to Ranger and saw my thoughts reflected in his eyes. It was time to visit the Plum household.

It took me several hours of gentle cajoling on Ranger's part to help me find my courage. Fours hours later and I was trying to convince Ranger that I couldn't get out of the car because I was super-glued to the seat. Obviously he didn't buy it but it was worth a shot.

My mother's infallible Burg early warning system seemed to be in place, and her and Grandma Mazur stood like sentinels outside the Plum porch. I struggled out of the car and Ranger was there in an instant, ostensibly to offer a courtly arm, but I knew it was so I could lean on him.

We walked to the porch and my mom moved forward to greet us like any good hostess.

'Stephanie,' she smiled, 'you didn't mention you were coming to tea, and bringing a guest too, how nice.'

'Mom, you remember Ranger.'

'Of course.' Her eyes narrowed fractionally at Ranger, measuring. She gave a nod as if she'd reached a decision. 'You're more than welcome Mr Manoso.'

I couldn't stop my eyebrows rising in surprise, I hadn't expected her to remember his surname, it had only ever been mentioned in passing, and apparently my mom noted more than I thought.

Ranger smiled softly at my mom, 'Carlos, please Mrs Plum.'

My mom smiled in barely concealed approval. 'Call me Ellen, Carlos.'

I felt like I was in the twilight zone – I was sure that something was going on underneath the surface introductions and niceties, unfortunately the Stephanie Plum package had not come complete with ESP.

Ranger gently tugged me out of my reverie and I quickly found myself sat at a table packed to bursting point with people and food. The children were excused to eat in the living room so as to make space for Ranger and me.

Albert and Valerie sat side by side opposite Ranger and I, and my parents were at their respective heads of the table. Grandma had somehow manoeuvred herself in between my dad and Ranger. Some of the time I viewed Grandma Mazur with a hint of exasperation, but mostly I hoped that I could be just like her when I reached her age. If I reached her age.

My mood turned darker abruptly and I fought to keep the frown from my face. I picked at my food, my appetite gone. Ranger captured my hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. Note to self; remember that the Carlos Manoso package comes complete with great body, ESP, not to mention the great…uh…package.

I dragged a watery smile onto my face and looked into his eyes, trying to reassure him that I was ok. Ranger's free hand came up and softly stroked one hand down my cheek before gently tucking an errant curl behind my ear.

I felt a real smile curve on my lips at the familiar gesture of affection that never failed to send tingles to all the vital parts of my body.

It was my father that broke the precious bubble of silence around us. 'Stephanie,' he said quietly, 'what's going on?'

I met my dad's concerned gaze and all the carefully prepared words just got sucked out of my brain, my lips moved up and down but my brain just couldn't think what to say.

Valerie sighed, 'At first we just thought you were upset about Joeseph, but now…what's going on?'

I couldn't think what to say, gone was my memorised speech about life, its meaning and everything. 'I'm sick.' I blurted out.

My mother reached forward to touch my forehead in the age-old reaction of mom's worldwide. 'You feel ok.' She murmured. I smiled, suddenly feeling my eyes well up with the tears at the tender concern. 'It's cancer.' I choked out.

Dad left his chair and walked round so he was stood behind me, he gently laid his hands on my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. 'There's lots of treatments baby, there's chemotherapy and-'

'It's not working.' I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but everyone heard. Silence pervaded the room, thick and oppressive.

I kept my eyes down on the table, not sure I could bear to see their expressions if they were angry with me, or hurt that I hadn't told them. 'I've been having treatments for a while now, but neither the radiotherapy nor the chemotherapy are working.' I paused not sure what to say.

I turned in mute appeal to Ranger and he continued to say what I couldn't.

'The only option left is a bone marrow transplant. The only problem is that the treatment requires a donor match. The most likely match is a sibling.' All eyes swung automatically to Valerie.

She met my eyes easily, 'I've been meaning to loose some weight,' she shrugged, 'might as well lose it through bone marrow.'

I half laughed, half sobbed, 'not sure bone marrow's all that heavy.'

'Nah.' Val agreed, 'but if hospital food doesn't make me lose weight then I'm doomed to be thin person stuck in a fat person's body.'

Somehow I managed to navigate round the laden table to my sister's side, but just as I reached her I paused. I wasn't a huggy person. I hit her lightly on the shoulder, 'thanks.'

She shook her head with a smile, and suddenly I felt like the younger sister that I was. She pulled me into her arms and hugged me tightly. 'Like I would ever deny my little demon of a sister anything.' I held onto her just as tightly. Eventually I pulled back, it was time to face facts.

'There's no guarantee that you'll match.' I said softly, turning to the rest of my family, 'You have to be prepared, there's chance, more than a chance that I might not make it.'

Before the room could explode in sound, I pulled out some things from my tote bag. 'I want to make sure everything is sorted.' I said firmly. 'Now, my will is currently being kept…'

The details were long and drawn out, and both my mother and my sister had had several bouts of tears as we went through my funeral arrangements and my will. My Dad remained outwardly stoic with slightly shaking hands, and Grandma was uncharacteristically silent.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Ranger and I made ready to make our leave. Both my parents as well as Valerie were going to the hospital to get tested as potential donors tomorrow. Naturally Grandma was going with them, if only to check out the hottie doctors. If all of those tests came back negative then Valerie and Albert had agreed that Mary Alice and Angie would be tested, despite my vociferous protests.

As I made to shrug into my jacket Albert appeared at my elbow, courteously helping me into it. Albert was normally surrounded with an aura of barely contained enthusiasm and eagerness, like a puppy that wasn't quite trained, but now he looked like someone had taken away his favourite toy, or kicked him when he wasn't looking.

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. 'Val and I, well, we might not be married yet, but I still think of you as my sister-in-law. My only sister actually…So if there's anything you want done…anyone you want to sue…I'm your man.'

I smiled up at him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, 'Thanks Albert.' He blushed and muttered something before fleeing to the kitchen.

'I think I'm jealous.' Ranger noted.

I smiled at him, 'Don't be.'

'Why not? He got a kiss.'

My smile widened, 'he got a brotherly kiss, I don't think you want one of those.'

He smirked slightly, 'no. My feelings for you aren't brotherly Babe.'

'Good to know.' I half laughed and then stopped abruptly as I noticed his darkened eyes. I stepped closer to him and brushed a fleeting kiss on his firm lips. His arms drew me in and held me against him He buried his head in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, for the first time, _I_ was comforting _him_, and for some reason that made me feel better.

Eventually he drew back, neither of us noticing my dad's speculative gaze, 'Come on Babe, let's get you home.'


	4. Chapter 4 and epilogue

_The final instalment, I hope you enjoy it. I tried hard to be medically accurate but any mistakes were my own. Please let me know what you think! Thanks. _

** Borrowed Time**

Part Four

I climbed into bed, closing my eyes momentarily, resting my aching eyes. God, I'm so sick and tired of always being sick and tired. Today had been long and emotionally gruelling, my heart felt battered and I felt weak. I hated it but didn't know quite what to do about it.

Just as I was about to begin a full-blown pity party, I felt the sheets tug slightly and I opened my eyes to see a topless Ranger slide into my bed. Without a word he wrapped me in his arms, and held me against his chest.

It was like a shot of serotonin to my system – instant happy.

'You're a great hugger.' I said, rambling on. 'You could sell your hugs.'

His hands skimmed up and down my arms. 'They're just for you Babe.'

I smiled at him, 'Mmm and I get them free, aren't I the lucky one?'

He kissed me lightly on my hair, then frowned, 'I miss the rats nest.' He confessed softly.

'Me too.'

His arms tightened around me, and then he started to whisper to me in Spanish. He spoke too rapidly for me to follow, but I caught a few words, like 'live' 'love' and 'life'. I fell asleep to the melodic rise and fall of his voice. My last conscious thought was that despite his voice being sexy enough for radio, it would be a crime to deprive people of the visual – I think I murmured something about TV before sleep claimed me.

* * *

The next morning Ranger had to help me shower. I felt a bolt of worry as I realised that he'd stood next to me in the shower and I hadn't even thought of sex. It wasn't a good sign for me, not at all. He washed me with a tenderness I wouldn't really have expected from him. A ruthless military efficiency, yes, tenderness, no. 

He made me eat an apple, and his worry lines deepened when I could barely manage half. I stumbled as I walked down my corridor, and summarily found myself swept up into his arms. He carried me to the car again, and glared at me when I apologised. 'It's no trouble.' He said firmly. I smiled wanly and nodded my thanks, mortified when I felt tears welling up in gratitude. Jeez, my emotions were all over the place. I blinked the persistent tears away and railed at myself mentally; come on Steph, buck up, you can do this.

I walked into the hospital on Rangers arm, any other time and place and I would have enjoyed it much more, but knowing he was partly holding me up made it lose some of its appeal. Still, I wanted to be there for my families blood tests, especially as they were going through it for me.

When I was shown into the appropriate room, I stopped dead. 'What's going on?' I demanded.

Angie was hopped up on the bed, arm extended.

'I thought we agreed that Angie and Mary Alice wouldn't be tested unless you all came back negative?'

'Stephanie.' Valerie said softly, 'they want to help you, and this way we save valuable time.' She started to tear up, 'the sooner you get the transplant the better your chances…' She angrily wiped at a tear, visibly trying to pull herself together.

I couldn't deal with someone else's crying, and I felt the first licks of panic as another tear escaped.

'Ok,' I said hastily, 'have them tested now, just stop crying, ok?'

Valerie smiled, and for a moment I could have sworn there was a glint of satisfaction in her eye, but no, it couldn't be. No one with a Meg Ryan mop could be manipulative; I think it has something to do with the dye.

Angie and Mary Alice were both very brave, though Mary Alice made a face when the needle penetrated her skin. Still, within minutes and two sugar cubes, she was soon galloping around the confined room as per usual. It made me smile.

The test results were being rushed, but even then it would be at least a day before we knew, and then it would probably be a week after that that the operation would take place… if I had a donor. And even then, my body had to accept the new marrow. There was a possibility, as with every transplant, that my body would react badly to the cells not of my own making. Still, the doctor said that I had a 10 mortality rate after the bone marrow transplant, I would prefer no mortality but 10 wasn't that bad, I had a 90 chance of living. That was a good thing.

Still, I wanted to tie things up, just in case. So Ranger and I went to Mary Lou's and spent three tear-filled hours with her. She burst into tears all over again when she offered me a donut and I said my stomach probably couldn't handle it. Then, sniffling, she made me a small salad that I managed to eat and keep down. Every time I even tried to mention the words 'death', 'dying' or 'mortality rate' she clapped her hands over her ears and hummed.

'Dammit Steph, you're going to make it. Don't even think for a second otherwise.' She said fiercely. It was what I needed to hear. I flashed her a wide smile and nodded. 'I sure am.' I agreed.

Next up was the office. Lula and Connie didn't cry, but they were clearly at a loss with what to say. Finally Lula said, 'If your skinny white ass dies, I'm going to haunt you.'

I thought about pointing out the inconsistencies there, but decided to ignore it this once. 'Who said I was going to die?' I demanded. 'I'll bust a cap up their ass for lying.' I said. And Lula lost it. I held onto her while she bawled and Connie deftly wiped her own streaming eyes. I never thought the day would come when us three open-emotion-aphobes had a group hug, but there it was, another thing to tick off.

Ranger took me home and made a small salad for dinner, frowning when I barely managed half. He cajoled me into a few more bites but finally I pleaded that another bite would make me barf so he let it lie. That night I lay in his arms and giggled whilst I tried to practise my pigeon Spanish. Ranger replied in kind, smiling, speaking slowly and clearly so I could understand.

'Tu es…' I couldn't think of the Spanish word for "sexy", 'um…sexy.'

Ranger laughed, 'Tu es sexy, hmm? Gracias querida, tu es sexy tambien.' Then his eyes took on that look that I've come to learn and love, it's heat and fire, and warmth and affection, it's stability and trust. It was everything.

'I love you.' I blurted out, I was slightly embarrassed but I didn't regret it, I didn't have time for regrets. Besides, he had to know now; I wouldn't want him to wonder after I'm gone how I felt.

He smiled a brilliant dazzling smile that was pure happiness, and then he leaned down and kissed me, slow, long and deep. It was breathtaking and shocking, and it rocked right down to the very core of my being. It was love.

When he finally pulled back from his silent declaration my heart was beating double time and, despite everything, I had never felt better.

'I love you.' He whispered to me. By that point I finally realised that I didn't really need the words, he'd been telling me that same thing over and over again with his actions for years. Still, the words were the icing on a figurative cake that I hadn't realised I'd been eating all this time.

We talked on and on for a few hours, Ranger carefully talking of future plans, and me, carefully avoiding it.

Whatever may come, Ranger loves me, and I love him. I wasn't scared of dying now, I was scared of leaving him, scared that he would find it too hard without me, scared that he wouldn't move on. Death is hardest on the living.

When we slipped into bed that night, I struggled to stay awake until Rangers breathing levelled off, signifying his deep sleep. Then I sneakily grabbed his cell phone from the bedside and called Tank.

It rang once before it was answered with a gruff 'Boss?'

'Not quite.' I answered, speaking lowly to make sure I didn't wake Ranger up.

'Stephanie?' he asked.

'Yeah. You're friends with Ranger, right? I mean, colleagues and stuff, but friends?'

'Yeah.' Tank said slowly, wondering where this was going.

'You know I'm dying right?'

Tank cleared his throat awkwardly, 'Ranger said you had cancer, but that you'd pull through.'

'I might,' I conceded, though not to myself, I couldn't let myself hope, not yet. 'I might not. I need you to help him through this if I die. I need you to promise you'll make sure he moves on, that he takes care of himself. You'll do that, won't you Tank?'

'I will.' He said solemly.

That was all I needed to hear. 'Goodbye Tank.'

'Goodbye Stephanie.'

We hung up, and I wondered if his goodbye had felt as final as mine had.

I replaced Ranger's cell back onto the side, calmer now I knew everything would be ok. Ranger loved me. I slipped into sleep easily that night, full of a sense of peace I'd never felt before.

* * *

I awoke feeling exhausted and disorientated. I wasn't home. Where was I? And damn, I needed to turn my alarm off - it wouldn't stop beeping. Wait, that wasn't my alarm. I blinked some more and tried to kick my brain into gear. 

I looked around some more, and barely stopped myself from groaning. Dammit. I was in hospital. I hate hospitals. Which wiseass invented them? Ok, so in principle they were a good idea, but the reality of being in one was never fun and games.

Ranger was in a chair by my bed, his head was lolling on his chest and he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

'Ranger.' I croaked, and his head snapped up.

'Babe.' He said with obvious relief. 'How do you feel?'

'Confused.' I confessed. 'What? Why?'

'You didn't wake up Babe,' he said, his voice tight. 'You hadn't been getting enough nutrients; they've put you on an IV now. This is your second day in hospital.'

I thought about all the implications of that, and I felt my heart stop. 'The results?' I asked. I didn't need to clarify; there was only one set of results that we were all thinking about right now.

'Angie's the best match.' He said softly.

'No.' I said instantly, firmly. 'No way. She's nine. No.'

'Babe,' he paused, 'just think about it ok? Your sister is your next match, but that's only a 65 match and they don't normally transplant below 70. Angie is a 92 match Babe, that's amazing, that's a really good match.'

'And what about Angie?' I said, 'She's so young; any operation for a kid is dangerous. So what if I live, what if she dies? I could NEVER forgive myself for that. Never.'

'Babe.'

'I don't want to talk about it Ranger.' I turned away from him and closed my eyes. Moments later I felt his hand reach out and gently stroke my hair back, I let him sooth my troubled heart and mind until I tumbled into sleep.

This time when I woke I knew exactly where I was, and a gentle resignation had settled over me. It was my time. Soon I would be released from my weary body and I could go on to whatever may come.

I smiled peacefully to myself.

'Aunt Steph?'

I dragged open my eyes and smiled at my niece, 'hello Angie, how are you?'

'Not good.' She said.

'What's the matter?' I asked, concerned.

'I'm upset that you don't love me.' She whispered, eyes welling up.

I struggled to sit up, 'Now who said that?' I demanded, 'of course I love you!'

Angie slowly shook her head, 'No you don't, you can't. Or else why would you do this to me?'

'Do what sweetie?'

'I could save you Aunt Stephie, I could save you and you won't let me.' Angie started to cry and panic welled up in me, my calm long gone, 'And now you'll die and I'll blame myself forever. And secretly, so will Grandma and Grandpa and Mom. Everyone will hate me. I will hate me.' She paused mid sob, 'why do you hate me so much that you would do that to me?'

I was speechless.

'Angie…' I paused, searching for the right words, 'No one will hate you, or blame you. And I certainly don't hate you. I love you, it's because I love you that I won't let you donate your marrow; it's too dangerous. You could die.'

'I _could _die if we do this, but you will _definitely_ die if we don't. The chances of me dying are really little, really really little. But if you don't let me help then you're definitely going to die. Why would you do that to me? I'd _never_ forgive myself. Never. I know you love Mary Alice more than me cos she's a crazy horse like you - I bet you would let Mary Alice give her marrow.' She burst into full-blown tears, covered her face with her hands and sobbed her little hear out. I panicked. I point blank panicked.

'Ok ok, we can do the transplant!'

As soon as the words left my mouth the door banged open and the room began filling with people, doctors, nurses, and Valerie, and my Mom and Dad, and Ranger was somewhere - I couldn't really see through all the paper work being shoved in front of me. I signed on all the dotted lines and then the whirlwind disappeared, leaving me a little disorientated.

'Was I just hustled?' I asked my Mom.

She smiled at me, 'you were being unreasonable dear.'

I gaped. I looked at the junior mini Meg Ryan, and Angie smiled brightly at me. 'I'm glad you love me Aunt Stephie.' Apparently the Meg Ryan mop _doesn't_ prevent manipulation, who knew?

Ranger cleared the room in small order, leaving me glaring at him accusingly. 'You had something to do with that didn't you?'

'Who? Me?' He said, blandly, 'never.'

He moved closer to me, sitting on the edge of my bed. 'The doctors are going to start prepping you both, they'll operate on you in five days.'

'Why so soon?'

His eyes tightened, but all he said was 'why wait?'

'There's still a chance,' I said softly. 'There's no guarantee that the treatment will work - I could still die Ranger.'

'You'll fight,' Ranger simply said. 'Fight for us.'

'Yes,' I nodded, 'I'll fight.'

* * *

Angie and I were both put in isolation rooms that night. Me, because in a day or two they were going to blast my system with as much radiotherapy as they could, and although this would make my chances higher in the long run, in the immediate term it was dangerous. The radiotherapy conditioning would destroy the cancerous cells, but it would also destroy my remaining immune system. If I contracted even a common cold from someone at this point I would probably die. And that would just be annoying. 

As for Angie, they certainly couldn't have her getting ill or they'd just be replacing my rubbish bone marrow with her ill bone marrow. Luckily neither of us had anything wrong at the moment – well, apart from the small matter of my cancer.

Two days later and I was bored of the isolation and I just wanted to get on with it.

That morning they put a catheter in my chest before they gave me the radiotherapy conditioning, apparently it was so they could give me all the drugs painlessly, but I think it's because they wanted to make me look like one of the people in the pods in the Matrix. But that's just my theory.

Those two days after the conditioning were the longest and most hellish of my life. I could only see my family for a little while each day, and each time they came to visit they had to go through a whole cleansing process and put on robes and gloves and masks to see me. Ranger stayed with me pretty much all the time, whether it was dressed up, robes and all, or whether it was through the glass, he stayed with me. I needed him so much, my energy levels were at an all time low, and I was irritable and nauseous as hell. The doctors told me this was normal, I told them to take a long walk off a short pier. Ok, so I wasn't gracious in my time of suffering, but to be fair, it was no picnic for me either.

Finally the morning of the transplant had arrived and I was ready to barf from sheer nerves, r it could just be the radiotherapy continuing its delightful work. More than anything though, I just wanted it to be over. This whole ordeal had been…well, an ordeal. I had cried nearly every day, thrown up more than I care to think of, and I had despaired and wanted to give up and end it all on too many occasions. And yet, I had struggled through by myself and found I was stronger than I ever imagined, I had leaned on my family and friends and realised this didn't make me weak, and I had found love and realised I had had it all along. It had literally been the best of times and the very worst of times. Turns out Charles Dickens knew his shit.

I just hope I'm going to make it though this, though I'm beginning to think - to believe - that I will.

The doctors ran a battery of tests on me early that morning, checking things like my heart and kidney function so that they had a baseline to compare with post-op. They were all experienced doctors and had performed many BMTs before; at least that's what they assured me. They told me my chances were really good.

They went over the whole procedure with me for what felt like the hundredth time. Angie would be put under general anaesthetic, and then they would insert a needle into the cavity of her hipbone and extract the bone marrow with a needle and a syringe. The thought of it made me cringe, but then I've never been especially hot with needles. Worse, Angie would have to endure multiple punctures on each hip, but they assured me repeatedly that under general anaesthetic she would feel only a little discomfort. Because there would be no actual surgery performed on her, Angie would make a full and rapid recovery.

I was worried that taking Angie's bone marrow would affect her health but the doctors told me that they would only be taking a small fraction of her bone marrow, just 2, so she should be absolutely fine.

Then finally they would give me the bone marrow intravenously, and then for the next two to four weeks I would suffer the worst flu like symptoms ever – that's if I was lucky enough not to get graft-versus-host disease, in which case it's possible I would die a pretty painful death. Still, I only had a 10 chance of said horrific death so I was trying to be positive, even when I was secretly sick to my stomach with fear. I had been living with this fear for a while now though, and I had learned how to cope with it, or at least not to focus on it.

It wasn't the death I was scared of as such; it was leaving everyone, and the pain. Ranger promised me, jaw locked firmly, eyes glistening suspiciously, that he wouldn't let me suffer. He swore he would make sure that I had enough pain medication, if the worst came to the worst. It reassured me, Ranger would tear the world apart for me if necessary, I'm pretty sure he could ensure I would have enough morphine.

Angie came and waved to me through the glass before she went to have her marrow removed, she was smiling at me, but I could see she was nervous. I wanted to ask her not to do it, but I knew that it wasn't fair, she was determined - and me asking her to do otherwise wasn't going to help her any.

I touched my hand to the glass separating us and she did the same, her hand was so small compared to mine. She kissed the back of her hand and I did the same, it was all we could do. My heart swelled and I wanted to cry, she was being so brave, and despite the doctors reassurances I knew what they meant with 'discomfort' – it was going to be the same level of pain as drilling teeth, it hurt and you wanted to cry out but you could just manage to keep it in. This was not going to be fun for her, even with general anaesthetic.

An hour later and it was all done and my brand spanking new marrow was being inserted into my IV tube. It all seemed just a little too easy to save my life. It was another hour of agitation before my mom came to tell me that Angie had come round; she was groggy, sore, and completely ok. I drifted into sleep reassured that my niece was going to be all right.

* * *

Two weeks later and I had come to the complete and utter realisation that this life-saving business was far far from easy. It was hard, very hard. It was the spectrum opposite from easy. And I was struggling not to whine. 

Angie had recovered completely, for which I was grateful, I however, was still completely sick. And although I had expected it, it still didn't make me less grumpy. I was so tired, even sitting up and watching TV was draining. And the isolation was getting to me big time. Ranger could come for a bit at a time, but even when he was holding my hand all I was holding was a horrible feeling plastic glove that did _not_ hack it. I was craving human contact, real genuine human contact. I understood intellectually exactly why I couldn't have it, infections were B-A-D right now, I had to avoid them, I got that, really I did. But I'm sick of throwing up in a bedpan, and sick of holding fricking gloves!

I was also struggling with exactly how dependent I was on everyone else. I was relying on complete strangers to save my life, even if they were professionals. All I could do was lie back and wait, and it was frustrating and boring, and the sense of helplessness made me quick to anger. Several times I had to stop myself snarling at some poor nurse just because I was feeling like I had the worst case of PMS the world has ever seen. It was embarrassing as hell that someone had to help me to the little intergalactic princess' washroom. That's what I had taken to calling it, to the amusement of the nurses.

Everyday I had to have more tests done, more blood taken, so that they could compare and see how well my new marrow was settling in. They made it sound like my marrow was moving into a holiday home. But two weeks of constant tests and I was beginning to suspect that the doctors were a secret coven of vampires, or flock or whatever the hell it is you call a bunch of bloodsuckers. I try to blame my paranoia on my illness but I think I'm just going crazy in here.

They reassured me that I would be out of the hospital in a few days; I think they were fibbing to stop me from trying to escape. Some days I would wake up feeling so much better, feeling ready to face the world, convinced this was _the_ day that they would let me out, and then the next day I would wake up feeling worse than ever. It was a disheartening experience, though Ranger and my family got me through it.

Three weeks after the initial transplant the marrow had finally engrafted, my blood count had returned to safe levels, and I could go HOME! It was, quite possibly, the happiest day of my life.

I woke up early; nearly buzzing with energy, and the doctors gave me the all clear. My family came in en masse and they brought the flowers that hadn't been allowed to contaminate my room, but the best bit of all was Ranger gave me a hug. A genuine skin-to-skin, I-can-smell-his-delicious-scent hug.

* * *

Epilogue

It was a struggle; I won't deny that. Even the first two months were a struggle. But I had hope. I was still tired, still getting sick sometimes, still irritable, but my regular checks all said that everything was progressing a-ok. 6 months they said, and you can even go back to work. I clung to that, fought for that. I wanted to have my life back, the day-to-day drudge and all.

Ranger was outstanding; he stayed with me most nights, rare exceptions due to work or business trips. It wasn't long until he was in my bed again the way I'd been hoping for since that night long ago. He was everything I remembered and more: fire and magic and love.

A month later and he suggested we move in together, though he suggested another location than my flat. BC, Before Cancer, I would have freaked out without question, now I could do something that I would have hesitated at because I _knew_ life was short, may still be short for me. It's every cancer victims fear - a relapse. It's five years before the doctors will decisively say that I'm 'cured' and even then, there will always be a faint echo of apprehension that it's not over yet. Still, all that's serving to do is constantly remind me to live, really live. I've stopped doing all the extreme things I was trying before, though I would still like to swim with dolphins, now it's the small things I really appreciate.

My family are a presence in my life like never before, and I go religiously to my Mom's house for dinner at least once a week, and I drag Ranger with me. Though to be honest its not like he's dragging his heels – I suspect he still prefers my moms cooking to mine.

After another month Ranger and I found the perfect flat, and started to pack up our respective things, and that's when Joseph Morelli finally showed up. He'd been on assignment on and off, I knew that much, but that did not excuse his absence from my life for over 7 months. He got into my flat, probably using his old key, and posed against the doorframe.

'Hey Cupcake' He smirked, 'how's it going?'

I stared at him speechlessly; I really had no idea what to say. Luckily Ranger was there to save the day. He straightened from packing one of the boxes, walked right over to Joe, and decked him. We packed around an unconscious Morelli for the next hour. When Joe came round Ranger hauled him up by his shirt, and spoke to him in a low voice that I couldn't quite hear. I caught the words 'cancer' 'asshole' and 'fuck-wit'.

Joe sent me apology flowers every day for a month. Eventually I forgave him, life is too damn short.

It was 5 months after my transplant that I knew I was really going to be ok. I walked into the Tasty Pastry and for the first time in too long I wanted a fricking donut. I brought 6 Boston Creams, marched home to Ranger, and promptly ate them all, and I didn't throw up. Ranger and I celebrated with lots of wild sex, and the next day the doctors cleared me for going back to work.

Life went back to normal, it continued and marched on, and I loved it. I have crappy days, of course - everyone does - but with Ranger and my family beside me I can face anything.


End file.
